


Dear Life, I Hate Sakusa Kiyoomi

by memoirs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Future Fic, M/M, Minor Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26373193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memoirs/pseuds/memoirs
Summary: Apparently it's been a few years and Osamu is no longer playing volleyball, Shouyou-kun is his teammate and the Purell loving freak Sakusa Kiyoomi was the love of his life!
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 131





	1. Without Knowing How

_I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,_

_Or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off._

_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_

_In secret, between the shadow and the soul._

_I love you as the plant that never blooms_

_But carries in itself the light of the hidden flowers;_

_Thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance_

_Risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body._

_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where._

_I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;_

_So I love you because I know no other way_

_Than this: where I does not exist, nor you,_

_So close that your hand on my chest is my hand,_

_So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep_

_\- Pablo Neruda, "XVII"_

_14 March 2019 (10:50 PM)_

_Osaka Medical University Hospital, Prefecture: Osaka_

Patient's Name: Miya Atsumu

Admitted By: Shirabu Kenjirou (Emergency Services)

Notes: _Patient admitted to the Emergency Department of this Hospital by Shirabu Kenjirou (2nd-year resident). Reported hit-and-run resulting in substantial tears to the rotator cuff as well as brain trauma. MRI indicates possible lesions on the hippocampus, raising concerns over possible implications for systems-level memory consolidation. The family has been contacted._

_18 March 2019 (4:13 PM)_

The world exploded and then there was blackness. But, from the darkness, a new world was born.

The smells came first - an unnaturally clean smell, with just a hint of alcohol.

Then, an experimental wriggle of the toe. With that tiny movement, a wave of self-awareness comes upon the man whose eyes refuse to open. 

He does not feel _right_. But, he knows this: he is a person. His name is Miya Atsumu.

There is a certain process that must be followed, to emerge from the blackness that comes after a world ends. It takes a sudden assault of smells and a slight movement to remind the brain that it is lodged in a body. Next, the muffled sound of conversation reaches his ears, but it is not possible, yet to understand the content.

"I never thought this day would come; I'm actually _sick_ of eating Onigiri," says a man (male no 1) who’s voice feels so familiar, something he had heard growing up. 

"I'll alert the newspapers," a man ( male no 2 ) says, his voice as light as the air. Atsumu can hear him, distantly, and knows that he is a friend.

"I'm just saying. I used to love Onigiri, Hell I even own several Onigiri restaurants. This is like breaking up with someone."

"I'll try not to take that personally."

"No one's forcing you to stay, Osamu-san," says a new male voice ( male no 3 ). It is darker and a lot more blunt than the one that spoke before; it is heavy with exhaustion. "I don't need you guys to keep me company."

"We're keeping 'Tsumu company," the man's voice ( male no 1 ) responds. "You're just an added bonus."

"But," the second man hesitantly says, his voice needling and tempting against the slow _beep, beep, beep_ that punctuates their words. "You know, Sakusa, it might be a good idea for you to go home for a few hours."

"I'm fine."

There is a pause as all four of them listen to the steady beeping of the strange metronome that Atsumu can't quite make sense of.

"Rin and I can stay here," the male no 1 says, as if this were a speech that he had rehearsed earlier. "We'll call ya if anything changes."

"You don't need to call me, Osamu-san," the male no 3 responds tightly. 

"Because I'm not leaving."

Osamu. The name evokes the smell of grass, air salonpas and the feeling of a hand squeezing a shoulder in comfort. In the pooling darkness behind Atsumus' eyes, he longs to reach out to the sound of this voice; there is safety and understanding and comfort. He longs to move his head, slightly, to feel the light of these feelings on his face. But, he cannot control his movements.

"You look tired. Ow – _Rin!_ What are you, twelve years old? Why did you just kick me?"

Osamu and Suna. He had known both of them, back when he was not trapped in this impenetrable darkness. They had passed dewy days together in the outside world. And now, their voices reached towards him and he tried to clasp their hands. If he can just open his eyes, then maybe Osamu and Suna would take him by the arm and lead him back to daylight.

_Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Openyoureyes. Openyoureyes._

A dull throbbing forms in the back of Atsumus' mind as a new sensation awakens within him: pain. The pain radiates from his shoulder and travels into his chest.

"What Osamu _meant_ to say," Suna says. "Is that you haven't left this hospital for days."

"We're worried about you, Kiyoomi."

 _Kiyoomi_.

Somewhere in the dark well, he struggles to escape from, he knows that he is in a bed, and that the sting in his arm is a needle. But, for some incomprehensible reason, the single shaft of light that reaches him is a name.

_Kiyoomi._

_Kiyoomi._

_Kiyoomi_. 

The steady _beep-beep-beep_ increases in tempo and there is a sudden flurry of movement in the dark space around Atsumus' bed.

"What the hell is going on?" Osamu asks, fearfully.

"Get a nurse," Sakusa snaps.

Atsumu can feel a warm hand pressed against his forehead.

"Are you eavesdropping on us, Miya ?" Sakusa says, his voice almost gentle.

The feeling of the hand calms him, and the strange beeping returns to a steady pace. He would like to thank him. He makes a fist and bangs on the walls of the well, but he makes no sound.

The blackness overcomes him once more. It comes over him hard and covers him entirely.

_20 March, 2019_ _(8:30AM)_

Just an hour ago, Sakusa had seen Atsumu stir in his sleep.

Both Osamu and Motoya were there to assure him that it was not just his imagination and he resented them and appreciated them in equal measure. Quite apart from the horror of discovering that he had stepped off the curb outside his ( no longer _theirs_ ) apartment and into on-coming traffic, which he had found out from Osamu, hours after the event. When he arrived at the hospital, Osamu, Suna, the entire Jackals team and hell even Motoya were already present. He had lost an important moment and it felt like robbery – it felt, the way he had felt when he learned from the newspaper of all things that Atsumu was going pro, that he was playing for the Jackals.

Just hours earlier, they had decided to stop fighting, be cordial to each other and agreed to write their names in ink at the bottom of the page on which their story ended. He had closed the door on him and bade farewell to the entire, sorry chapter, aware that while the fight may have ended, he was the only one suffering.

But, from the moment he entered this cold, sterile hospital, he found it impossible to leave. He was drawn to his fading light like some vulnerable creature with dust on its wings. That was what it felt like to love Miya Atsumu.

"I'm glad that you're here for him," Suna had said to him over Atsumu’s unconscious form. Sakusa had looked at him – _really_ looked at him – and for once had seen him clearly. Suna may have been the closest thing that Atsumu had to a family apart from Osamu, but they always observed a comfortable distance. He didn't understand, he could never really understand what it was to truly know Miya Atsumu, to know that there was quite simply nothing that he wouldn't do. His words reflected back at him: No Limits.

Sakusa didn't know, really, what brought him to this place. When Atsumu opens his eyes, they would still be over: this entire, sticky mess between them would bind them forever, certainly, but compromise seemed impossible. The time for fighting was over; now it was time to gather together what was left.

Perhaps he stayed by his bedside because Atsumu looked the way he felt: wrung out, exhausted, and absent from the world.

"I don't know how you do it," Komori said to him, sitting in one of the plastic chairs in EJP Raijin Jersey after playing a match against the Jackals in which neither Sakusa nor Atsumu had participated. Komori Motoya just didn't belong in hospitals. Both he and Hinata, who seem to visit Atsumu as often as their schedule permits, squirm in their seats, as if eager to escape. For his part, Sakusa was totally still, waiting for a cue from the immobile man who had taken his world, shaken it violently, and discarded it.

"How do I do what?"

"How you always come through for him, no matter what," Komori said fondly.

"I'm not here for anyone else," Sakusa said flatly. "I'm just waiting."

"What are you waiting for?"

"The end. Whatever form it takes."

Komori's eyebrows formed a thin line in the centre of his forehead as he examined Sakusa's face. Gone was the determination and aloofness of before Atsumu's various double-crosses, replaced by hard listlessness. 

"Please don't say that, Kiyoomi. Don't talk like something's ending."

"Something is."

"But things are getting better," Komori reasoned. "You and Atsumu agreed to a truce. The petty fights are over. You can move on."

"Yes," Sakusa said, his eyes still settled on Atsumus' face – the only point of movement in his entire being was in the faint fluttering of his eyelids, pale and translucent. "But he has to let me go, first."

"He _did_ let you go, Kiyoomi."

He tilted his head as if examining a specimen with a scientific eye. Finally, he offered his cousin a half-smile. "I told him we are never, ever, ever getting back together.” and “ If at all that happens, it would be because one of us must have lost our mind, and ended up seriously hurt or both.” Sakusa allowed his tired head to come to rest on the wall behind his head. "Before you know it, he’s hit by a car and hurt, He's an evil genius."

"Atsumu didn't plan for this to happen.”

"Atsumu plans everything," he whispered, reaching forward as if to touch his mask, before stopping himself just in time. When his pale hands came to rest in his lap, Komori supposed that he might burst into tears if he stayed for a moment longer.

Gathering his jacket and wallet, he offered Sakusa a watery smile. "I'm going to go to the cafeteria with Suna, do you want me to get you something ?"

He shakes his head and says,"No, I’m good."

Komori paused before he left, resting one hand on the doorframe and shaking his head at the intense look of focus on Sakusa's face: as if this were a diabolical plan that he had yet to figure out. Even the sight of Atsumu in a hospital gown couldn't convince him that this whole thing was real. "He didn't plan this, Kiyoomi. And there was nothing you could have done."

"I'm sure you're right, Motoya," Sakusa said unconvincingly, not tearing his eyes away from Atsumus' face.

"Oh, and Kiyoomi?" Komori said, worrying his lip with his teeth. "Happy Birthday."

"Thanks," Sakusa responded without looking up.

Then, it was just Sakusa and Atsumu. Or whoever they were nowadays.

Komori was probably right. There was no way he could have planned this. There would be no leaping up from the hospital bed to laugh at him by Atsumus' bedside. There was nothing, really, apart from the carefully regulated breathing that told him Atsumu was still alive. Komori was right; he was being paranoid.

But, then, Motoya had never loved Miya Atsumu – not the way that Sakusa had. No one had loved him the way he had. He had loved him hard, loved him rotten, he had lost himself entirely in him.

And then, he had woken up the day after – as if at the end of the long fight – and had found that life was quiet and manageable without him. With Atsumu, it had seemed as if the world were vast and terrifying: in Technicolor with just a hint of violence. Without Atsumu, there were polite smiles and small talk in the locker rooms. But, he was in control of every second of his quiet, well-polished days. He went to practice, spiked the balls that the non-Atsumu setter set for him, and had dinner with Bokuto and Akaashi in their apartment.

But, he half-expected the people around him to look at him strangely, to point and gasp and gossip.

He would stand in front of the mirror for hours, examining himself. This was nothing new. But, for once, it wasn't his face or hands that he was trying to assess.

He was searching, his skin, trying to find the mark Atsumu had left on him.

_21 March, 2019 (9:14PM)_

There seem to be bandages and ointments on his skin. But, beyond the feeling of coolness and itching, he can hear a breath next to his ear. It tells him secrets, which he forgets.

"I was lying when I said I would never get back with you," Sakusa whispers to the night. "And that's what terrifies me."

That night, Sakusa reads to him, and his voice is like wind chimes, in stark contrast to the sounds of machines. But, after a while, Sakusa stops reading and he drifts away from him until he falls asleep with a hunger for it.

_22 March, 2019 (11:32AM)_

"Those doctors give me the creeps," Hinata commented idly, offering Sakusa a chip and shrugging when he shook his head.

"They don't know what to make of all of us," Sakusa said, tightening his Jacket around his middle and strolling to the window, looking out at the street below and wondering whether the people who walked on the streets downstairs knew how uncomplicated their lives were. "It's usually just the family that gets told this sort of thing. They're not used to playing to an audience."

"You _are_ his family _omi_ - _san_."

Sakusa glanced at Hinata, noting his wide hazel eyes and the determined nod of his head. He never looked directly at Atsumu; it was easier to pretend that everything was alright when you didn't see evidence to the contrary right before your eyes.

"You know that's not true, Hinata," he said, morosely.

Hinata sighed, stretching his short legs straight out in front of him. "I know things have been really screwed up recently."

"You have a real gift for understatement."

Hinata glanced down, before peering at him through his eyelashes. "You've changed _omi_ - _san_ ," he said shyly.

His crossed arms were a shield. "How have I changed?"

"You're nicer to everyone on the team," Hinata said with a slight grin, gratified when Sakusa let out a low chuckle. "But mainly…you're just…sadder _omi_ - _san_."

His heart clenched slightly, and he turned back to the window, unaware that the light of the outside cast shadows on his face. "I'm not sad, Hinata."

"Yeah. But you are."

"I'm not sad," he insisted. "I'm just really tired."

Hinata nodded without prying. He was so different from Atsumu in that way; he never needed to dig deeper, deeper – until he hit the one secret that proved to him that everyone was a liar, just like him.

He should know; he was a liar, too.

_23 March, 2019 (3:21PM)_

"He'll wake up when he's ready, Sakusa. No one could ever rush Atsumu, that Big Fat Jerk", Suna says, taking his place next to Osamu.

"As his brother, I can say for sure no one can tell Atsumu to do anything he didn't want to do. He's probably just torturing us on purpose", Osamu says confidently.

There is a pause.

"I wonder if he was scared," Sakusa says, breaking the silence. 

"When the car hit him. I wonder if he was still like this – if he looked like he was dead."

"He's going to be fine, Kiyoomi." Komori's voice sounds strange as if he'd said this phrase so many times that it was losing its sincerity.

"I wish people would stop saying that. There's nothing _fine_ about this. They're talking about brain damage, you know. I mean, you realize that even if he wakes up…"

"Kiyoomi," Komori interrupts. "You need to calm down."

"No. You need to open your eyes."

There is a pause.

"You know," Komori says. "I almost expected that to work."

"I wasn't talking to him."

"Okay. Whatever you say."

None of it makes sense to Atsumu and he longs for the silence that comes when it was just him and the voice that belonged to Kiyoomi. But two things he knows, through the fog and dark: he looks like he was dead, and his name is Miya Atsumu.

Then even these dissolve, and the darkness takes him in hand once more.


	2. Awake and Alive

_27 March, 2019 (11:01AM)_

He had wondered many times what he would do when those familiar dark eyes met him again. Mostly, he wanted to do the one thing that he had failed to do that night, when they had shaken hands. Lovers do not part with a handshake, and the mere fact that they had tried to do so insulted him, insulted both of them.

Lovers end with a slap or a kiss.

When Atsumu opened his eyes, Sakusa would either slap him or kiss him. Only time would tell which one he chose.

Or maybe he could do both.

_31 March, 2019 (2:57PM)_

There was something different about that day. He knew it immediately, when once more his mind slipped into its rightful place in his body. He knew that today was an auspicious day, as clearly as he knew that his name was Miya Atsumu, and that only his brother called him ‘Tsumu.

It was time to wake up. To wake up _properly_.

He didn't want to rush the process. He started with the now familiar toe wiggle. Then, he tensed his arm, to feel the familiar swoop of sickness that came when he realized that there was a foreign object lodged in it. He swallowed once, twice.

Then, with the exultation of a blind man who can see for the first time, Miya Atsumu opened his eyes.

The room came to him in snatches. There were chairs arranged in an arch around his bed, as if scores of people had come to see him. There were machines all around him, and a bland watercolour painting graced the wall opposite his bed.

_How quaint,_ he thought lazily.

He was in a rather dreary hospital bed. But, at first sight, even it's neat corners and rough sheets seemed beautiful to him in the afternoon sun. His head may have hurt like hell, and his shoulder may have felt like there were pins lodged in it, but the sight of crisp white sheets was enough to make him exult in the fact he had conquered the darkness.

There was still a hint of grey about the corners of his vision, but he was starting to feel like himself again, cringing at the cheap fabric that rubbed against his chest and the greasy feeling of his unwashed hair. He would need to get some proper care, now that he was awake.

But, this thought made him frown. Why was he here? Experimentally, he tensed his muscles, taking stock of the damage. With this movement, came a new wave of pains; his ankle hurt and his chest felt as if it had a tight band around it.

Things were clearing in his mind; he seemed to recall a strange pain in his stomach. It was burning. He was leaving somewhere, and he felt as if his chest might burst. He had just done something important, but it made his chest feel like he was going to die. His eyes had been blurring as he stepped off the curb.

Then came the explosion.

But why had he been there? What had he been doing? Why had he felt as if at any moment, his heart might stop beating?

Questions blossomed into new questions.

The important thing was that his eyes were open, and judging by the beeping of the heart monitor, his heart was still performing its primary function.

_It's only a function,_ he thought wryly.

His hand was turning numb, he realized. It was only when he started to flex his wrist that he noticed a strange sight. There, next to his right hand, was a head-full of black curls.

He would have known him anywhere; he had grown up seeing those curls on the opposite side of the volleyball court. He had seen them bounce when Sakusa hit the ball, and he had seen them tied with a hair clip to keep them from falling on Sakusa’s face at the Youth camp . But for the life of him, he couldn't make sense of the sight.

Sakusa Kiyoomi's face was buried in his hospital sheets, and Sakusa’s hand was clasped in his.

It took longer than it should have for these thoughts to connect, and the moment that they did, he snatched his hand away on an impulse. The movement, however, caused Sakusa’s head to whip up.

His face was streaked with tears. Surely, he wasn't crying over him? He noticed, suddenly, that he wasn't wearing his face mask. This sight in itself was enough to throw him; in all the years he had known Sakusa, he had never seen him without his face mask. The only time he had seen him dissolve into tears was when Itachiyama crashed out of the Spring Interhigh. He had stayed with Sakusa for hours, uncertain about how to comfort him – certain that his hand would be swat away if he tried to stroke his back, the way Komori always did.

"Atsumu?" he asked, as if he scarcely believed it.

He waited for a witty response to form in his brain, but it was impossible through the dull cotton that seemed to have lodged there.

"As you live and breathe," he responded, although his dry voice cracked slightly over the first syllable, disappearing entirely before he could complete the sentence.

He was about to perform the Herculean task of forming a word once more, when suddenly, Sakusa's face dissolved into tears.

"You're awake," he said, his voice wavering with tears

Atsumu gave him an alarmed look, his brain still struggling to accommodate the fact that Sakusa’s tears and his condition were related. "Omi-kun - "

"No, don't talk," he said, wiping at his face and pressing a button to summon one of the nurses. "Just…don't say anything. Don't remind me that I'm mad at you. Just…"

_Why the hell is he mad at me?_ Atsumu wondered.

He stood, turning his back to Atsumu and covered his mouth with a face mask. When he turned around to look at Atsumu. The expression on his face was impossible to decode and he found himself captivated by the conflicting emotions that appeared and disappeared in constantly rearranging patterns. He had never seen Sakusa quite so undone as he was now.

"Atsumu," Sakusa said in a voice that he didn't recognize. Then,he stepped towards his bed-side, where he lay not wanting to move until he made sense of the scene and could select an appropriate response.

Finally, though, the expression on Sakusa’s face forced him to ask the only question that would account for Sakusa’s strange reaction to him. "Am I dying or something?" he rasped, hating the sound of his own weak voice.

"Shut up, Miya," he said in that same husky voice, frowning deeply at him.

Sakusa’s face, as he looked down at him, was the same face that he had seen each day at Youth camp and several tournaments, but he had never looked at him like this, before. So, he obeyed Sakusa’s request that he stay silent, as if his aching throat would have allowed any other course of action.

Sakusa swallowed, hard, shaking his head in disbelief at something he couldn't quite make out. And then, with a slight tremor in his hands – _Sakusa Kiyoomi with a tremor?_ – Sakusa placed them on either side of his face. Sakusa needn't have worried about holding him still, because he couldn't have moved if he wanted to. Then, with the slow, deliberate movements of someone performing a solemn act, he kissed him, square on the lips.

For a moment, the strangeness of Sakusa’s lips against his eclipsed any other thought. They were soft and immediate against his dry, parched mouth. He would have liked to drink in some of his moisture; to pull him closer until Sakusa’s hands were his hands and together they could figure out why on earth he was kissing him like this.

But when Sakusa pulled away, he looked questioningly into his eyes, trying and failing to read the thoughts that were forming and disintegrating behind them.

There was only one thought in his head: Sakusa Kiyoomi had just kissed him. Not only had he kissed him, but he had done it as if it were the most meaningful kiss in the world. Sakusa Kiyoomi had kissed him, and in the years he had known Sakusa, never had he willingly touched another person without the slightest discomfort. Sakusa was, quite possibly, the most insanely driven person that he had ever met.

That kiss, whatever it meant, was surely part of something bigger that he could not quite understand. Something was wrong. Something had changed incomprehensibly.

And Miya Atsumu hated being in the dark.

Against his will, his injured hand came to his lips, as if trying to catch the kiss Sakusa had just placed there. But, when he spoke, his voice was rough. "Omi-kun," he rasped, his throat aching and his lips tingling. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Sakusa jumped back as if his words had been a physical blow. For a moment, his face rippled as if another jag of tears were about to come upon him. But, Sakusa mastered himself and his eyes hardened. Sakusa opened his mouth to respond, but before he had the opportunity, the door to his room opened and two nurses spilled in.

"Miya-san. How are you feeling? Can we get you some water?"

"What's happening?" Osamu asked, hurrying into the room. "I saw the nurses…and…Sakusa, where are you - "

"He's awake," Sakusa spat at him, before running from the room. "I'm done here."

Atsumu was aware that he must have looked strange, standing stock-still with his fingers pressed to his lips. Certainly, Osamu shot him a (typically) confused glance as the nurses on either side of him checked instruments and examined his bandages. But, as always seemed to be the case with Osamu, kindness won out over confusion.

"Are you okay, ‘Tsumu?" Osamu asked gently.

But, Osamu’s voice is drowned out by the more insistent questions of the nurses. "What do you remember about the accident?"

"Nothing," he said, one hand still frozen in its position on his lips, and the other sipping water from a long, yellow straw. As he drank, his voice gained strength. "I remember everything exploding."

"There was a car accident," one of the nurses prompts him. "Do you remember where you were when it happened?"

It was like gazing at a horizon over a vast expanse of water. "I was leaving practice to go to Aran-kun’s house. They were having a party. I was - " as he spoke, the images he was conjuring solidified and the horizon turned into a shore line " – I was thinking about how much more interesting things would be now that both Kita-san and Aran-kun were both leaving."

"Aran-kun’s party ?" Osamu asked, shaking Atsumu from his reverie. "Leaving where?"

Atsumu glanced down at Osamu's hand where it curled around the metal bar of his hospital bed. "Our volleyball club, Since, you know their graduation."

In the uneasy silence that followed, Atsumu’s eyes travelled up Osamu's arm, noting that he was wearing a black shirt with some ongiri symbol and that his hair was now back to black. Was it possible that Osamu had grown since he had last seen him?

Osamu glanced uncertainly at the nurses. One of them whispered something in an undertone, before hurrying out of the room, presumably to summon a doctor.

"‘Tsumu," Osamu said, gently. "Aran-kun’s graduation party for our volleyball club was long back and you have achieved quite a lot since then. Quit joking around."

For the first time that Atsumu could remember, he felt a thin sliver of fear enter his chest. "How long was I asleep?"

"Just a little over two weeks."

"That's not ages, ‘Samu," he laughed hollowly. "You just have a short attention span." But, despite his calm tone, the heart monitor's beep was becoming increasingly erratic. As they spoke, Osamu’s eyes consistently returned to the screen, as if it were an insight into his twin brother's brain.

"The farewell party for the third years was 7 years ago," Osamu said, as if uncertain whether this was something he was allowed to divulge.

"Bullshit," Atsumu said flatly. The beeping of the heart monitor increased in speed.

"Come on, ‘Tsumu," Osamu said nervously. "You know this. We lost our interhigh match against karasuno and the third years graduated in 2012."

Atsumu shot him a calculating look. He had learned, over the years, that it was best never to demonstrate ignorance to an opponent. Nonetheless, everyone could hear the steadily increasing heart rate on the monitor.

"I see." He paused for a moment, glancing at the nurse as if he didn't want her to hear what he next said. "And what year is it now?"

Osamu’s knuckles were turning white on the bed-frame. "Maybe we should wait for the doctor."

"’Samu, I asked you to tell me what year it is."

Osamu sighed, aware that no matter what he said, Atsumu’s heart rate continued to rise. "It's 2019."

The beeps all but blurred into one, right before he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!   
> kudos/comments/feedback is appreciated ♡

**Author's Note:**

> kudos/comments/feedback is appreciated ♡


End file.
